


The Preamble

by BelowBedlam



Series: Verity [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:43:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4122942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelowBedlam/pseuds/BelowBedlam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Iron Bull meets the Herald on the Storm Coast.</p><p>First thought: They sent him a freaking dandelion.<br/>Second thought: Good shit.<br/>Third thought: Fuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Preamble

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little ditty on the very first time Bull meets my Inquisitor Kimani from his POV. He's fucked from the jump, unfortunately.

The first time Bull sees her he thinks,  _that’s a fucking dandelion._

Of course, he’d asked Krem if the Inquisition agent coming to meet them was a redhead. He knew their spymaster was, and was fairly thrilled about that, but Krem shook his head.  _Not at all, chief. She’s…very fair-haired. It’s very curly, like a cloud. And her skin is warm, brown, and she’s honey about the eyes…_

But Bull had gone back to cleaning his axe. Blondes were fine by him, but a red, well. Reds were simply his weakness.

Except she wasn’t blonde.  Her hair was white like his people’s, except she wasn’t Qunari, either. Only human, and a mage to boot.

The woman and her crew came upon the Chargers mid-romp with some Tevinter bastards and jumped right into the fray. He’s just finished cutting a poor fuck in half when a shot of fire whizzes past his head, and all he can think of is Seheron in the summer until he sees the Seeker ram into a Vint damn near head-first. There’s a shout as the Vint mage casts lightning at whoever shot the fireball.

“Varric!” a woman’s voice barks, “To the archer, please!” And then—he’s knocked another knight into the waking sea by now, sees Krem eviscerate his buddy—he hears someone running, apparently  _dodging_ the Vint mage’s shots until he sees her whip past him to sling another ball of fire directly at the mage’s throat. The fire’s caught him good, but she twirls her staff around in nimble hands and runs him through with the bladed end for good measure. Bull laughs.  _Good shit._

Their elven mage freezes the last knight, and Bull shatters it into the tiny pieces he likes. Then it is silent save for heavy panting and the groaning of Tevinters still dying. It’s good that it’s raining, he thinks. Sitting blood was the worst.

“Chargers, stand down! Krem! How did we do?” He calls, is satisfied that his lieutenant is in such good spirits with that goofy smile on his face. They’ve got a couple injuries, no deaths. Exactly what he likes to hear.

And then everyone is surveying the strangers from both sides, eventually looking to their leaders who look at each other. She’s a freaking dandelion, he thinks again, with hair the color of dry-sky clouds. Her skin sheens copper, slick with rain. Honey eyes, like Krem said, a little frightening all ringed in white. Black riding pants hug her hips and she’s covered in light mage armor, soaking wet. The armor wouldn’t do her much good forever, but she’s alive for now.

She’s watching him too, trailing him from horns to feet, head tipped to the side, gaze lingering a bit too long about his shoulders and chest. This, he’s used to; he’s big and muscled and shirtless, after all. It doesn’t last for long, the ogling: she breaks into a toothy smile, slipping into a slinky little curtsy. Bull blinks.

There’s still blood dripping from her stave blade and she drops a fucking curtsy.

“You must be The Iron Bull.” She calls, walking over to him. She’s Marcher for sure, but there’s an accent atop her accent, drawling her I’s and pulling her U’s.

“The Inquisition agent, I presume. Horns a dead giveaway, huh?” He tips his head to her. She shrugs, still smiling. “You’ve met my lieutenant, Cremisius Aclassi,” She nods at Krem. “So what should I call you?” The throat-cutters make quick work of the dying, but he has Krem run them through a second time, shooting off at the mouth. She chuckles when Krem hits back as he steps away from the pair of them and her party comes closer. A Seeker, an elf, and a dwarf, all of whom looked older than her but waited on her word. They eyed him with more suspicion than she, but she was the one here to make a deal.

“My name is Kimani Trevelyan. You can call me either one.” She cups a hand to the rain and runs the caught water through her hair, scratching her scalp. She’s shaking a little.

“But you would do better to call her the Herald of Andraste.” The Seeker says, coming to her side, her face a mix of delicate features and ferocity. Kimani lowers her eyes a second before meeting his gaze again with the same steadiness. So, she didn’t particularly like the title. But he sees, belatedly for him, the green glow in her left hand.

 _Well shit._ She definitely looked the part, bright with adrenaline and damn-near otherworldly. He grunts.

“Come on, have a seat,” He beckons to her as he walks away. “Drinks are coming.”

“Business before drinks,” She chirps, trailing him with a hand on her hip. Bull chuckles, almost says “Sure, boss,” though no deal had been closed, and dismisses it as his own over-confidence on getting hired. He should have known then, the big idiot, but he goes on without pause, doing his piece on the Chargers and Ben-Hassrath in the voice that gets everyone: Self-assured behemoth with the eloquence of a Lord. They  _loved_  him in Orlais. He was so good at his job.

But clearly not good enough, because he should have known then, after the deal is struck and they part ways, in the number of times he looks back to catch a glimpse of her. He should have known. He’ll think this later.

Later, he’ll already be undone.


End file.
